Little Volcano
by AJ the BlueJay
Summary: Donald has lost his sister. Alone, with her eggs, he takes his explosive anger out on everyone that wronged him. But after tonight, he won't let his temper rule him anymore.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** So a lot of factors led to the construction of this fic. It was after the first episode of this duckbomb, "What Ever Happened to Donald Duck?!", and I got to thinking about Donald going to see a therapist for his anger. Then I was listening to some nu metal tonight and couldn't stop thinking about Donald lashing out against the world. Thus was I compelled to write this. I'm pretty sure many people have written fics about this moment after the Spear of Selene was lost, but boy, I was feeling the emotions putting this down. I hope y'all do too. Enjoy.

* * *

He keeps it together as Scrooge McDuck frantically instructs his niece on how to navigate a cosmic storm. He keeps it together as the transmission goes dead and Scrooge pleads for his team to get Della Duck back. He keeps it together as he wheels the bassinet carrying Della's triplet eggs out of the mansion and out of Scrooge's life. He keeps it together as he drives to the marina where his recently purchased houseboat sits on the still waters of the early evening. He keeps it together as he sets the bassinet in a corner and plops down on a trunk.

Then it all comes rushing in. He built that rocket. She wouldn't listen. He didn't stop her. All for one last adventure.

His fists clench as his entire body tenses up. The beginnings of an all-too-familiar scenario.

Nobody listened to Donald Duck. He had a garbled voice and cared too much about safety and rationality. Why should they listen? Let's just use him as trap fodder while the great Scrooge McDuck gains another valuable treasure of the world! Let's head blindly into danger without heeding warnings because nothing can stop Della Duck!

His teeth are grinding, his body is trembling, his blood is boiling.

It was just like the world to turn on him like this. All his life he suffered at the hands of fate; scrapes here, bruises there, near-death experiences everywhere. Just when Donald gains a new home and his dream of independence seems a reality, fate laughs and takes from him his flesh and blood, the other half of him, his sister. And Scrooge betrays him for the last time.

Donald is panting hard now, his face grows red and hot. The rage is blinding as it bubbles near the surface of his sanity.

Then, all too quickly, it surges over the precipice. The anger explodes, his mind snaps, and all he sees is red again.

Donald screams at the top of his lungs. He bounces up and down, slamming his feet as hard as they will slam into the floor of the houseboat. He rips his hammock down from its perch. He flips the bedside table and watches the lamp and the picture of him, Scrooge, and Della crash down and spread broken glass all over the place. He runs to the kitchen, and punches the cabinets, over and over again, as he punched the bullies of his youth. He doesn't stop when the wood splinters, nor when the wood cracks. He stops when the panel flies off and hits him in the forehead, knocking him to the ground. He screeches again and grabs the panel.

He will destroy everything that can be destroyed. He will burn this blasted houseboat to a crisp. He will make fate rue the day it decided to mess with Donald Fauntleroy Duck.

Plates are shattered, appliances reduced to plastic bits and broken circuit boards. The stove is dented, its glass adding to the mix on the floor. A life that was blossoming before him is now being swept away by his hand.

Donald slips on a piece of glass and he yelps as it cuts into the bottom of his foot. His legs are yanked from under him and he lands on his head. His vision is no longer red.

Now, it is black.

When he wakes up, the world around him is still dark. Donald is exhausted, drained of every drop. A stream of moonlight shines into the kitchen, draping its ethereal glow across the destruction. Donald moans, realizing how much his hands, feet, and head hurt. He shuffles across the floor, pushing aside the clutter and wonders how this mess got here. When he stands up, the room spins so he stumbles against a wall and presses into it, waiting for his sight to stabilize. He then flicks on a nearby lightswitch, and the aftermath of his temper tantrum reveals itself.

Donald's jaw drops open. His brain misfires. His eyes twitch in shock. The place is an unbelievable, near-unsalvageable wreck.

And he did this.

The guilt overwhelms him just as quickly as his anger did hours ago. What had he done? He didn't even remember doing some of this. The memories of the day are flash frames in his mind, clouded with dirt and scratches. He frantically looks from one end of the houseboat to the other. It's all trashed. A wasteland of a home. He was hurt today. So he lashed out, like he always did. But nothing was solved. He didn't win. He only managed to further hurt himself.

Then he sees the bassinet.

"No…" he breathes, and rushes over to the corner where it is, avoiding broken trinkets and pictures on the floor. He can't have done this. The world couldn't hate him so much as to take away the last remnants of his sister by his own hand.

Fate gives Donald a break. The eggs are completely unharmed. Donald inspects them thrice over, to be sure. Not a crack or scuff in sight. He presses his ear to each once. The heartbeat bumps its slow, steady rhythm. It's almost as if...they're sleeping soundly.

The developing lump in his throat rises to the top as Donald wraps his arms around the eggs. Tears pour down his face as he hugs the babies close. For the second time tonight, Donald lets his emotions get the better of him. He sobs uncontrollably. He cries out Della's name into the night. He wishes for Scrooge to become the poor, penniless old man he always dreaded to be.

But he still loves his uncle. The duck who gave him a new life after his parents' untimely death. The duck who aided in his sister's death.

He's appalled, he's grieving, and he feels lost in a sea of uncertainty. He doesn't know what to feel. He can only feel too much as the salty tears cascade upon the eggs as Donald presses his beak into them to feel their warmth. He begs for their comfort.

It's not fair on them. They're only eggs. They're not even his. They're Della's!

But she's not here anymore.

Donald screams Della's name until his throat feels raw, and eventually, drained of all his emotions can give, he passes out again, holding the eggs close.

The sun rises on a new day, and Donald makes a decision. His outbursts of anger have gone too far. He has a responsibility now. Della's kids must grow up with the best parent he can provide for them. And it starts with getting help. The burden of his rampant temper has wreaked its havoc over him for the last time. He can't hurt Della's kids. He would never forgive himself.

He searches through the phone book and finds a familiar name. Neighbor Jones from when he was a kid. He loved playing with him and he always seemed to know just how to calm him down after an outburst.

Seems only fitting that he had his own mental health therapy clinic in town, specializing in anger management.

He swallows, and dials the number. His cell phone, a few years behind the newest fancy "smartphones" sounds the dial tone once, twice, three times, then a click.

"Good Neighbor Therapy, how can I help you?" the gruff voice says.

"Um, hi. I don't know if you remember me, Jones, but, uh, it's me. Donald Duck."

There's a brief pause. Then the voice says, "Donald? Yeah, I remember you! It's been so long! How's your old man Scrooge and that sister of yours?"

Donald can feel the sadness start to build again. "Er, I'd rather not talk about them. Look, something's happened, and, uh…" He sighed, swallowing down his fear. "And, you remember my temper, right? I...I need help, Jones. I need to be the best parent I can be, and I can't do that when my anger controls me the way that it does."

"I see. You sound like you need to get some things in order. You're very brave for telling me this, Donald, and I want to help you in any way I can. My schedule's actually free today. Care to come in so you can tell me what's goin' on and we can organize a plan?"

For the first time in two days, Donald smiles. "Yeah, Jones. I'd like that very much."

The appointment was set for 1:00 that afternoon. Donald then turns his attention to his wrecked houseboat. He is ashamed that he had managed to completely wreck it. But that was in the past. His new children need a good home to grow up in, and he would do his best to make it a great one. For them, for himself, and for Della, he would take his broken life and clean it up to the best of his ability. It wouldn't be perfect, but for her kids...for his kids, he would move mountains to make it so.

He was Donald Duck. And despite whatever fate had in store for him, this duck didn't back down.


End file.
